Mahlobo, the Ling Ling twins, the wipeout
Thursday. The tide is full, so Durban’s North Beach is a slither of glittering black sand that’s already warm underfoot at quarter past six in the morning.
I’d been driven out of bed an hour before by the heat and a rather lurid nightmare involving Minister of Manicures David Mahlobo and the Ling Ling twins, and felt somehow grubby and in need of cleansing, so all roads led to the Indian Ocean.
Mahlobo’s a creepy cat, and a gropey one at that, but at least he’s proved my man JahNoDead wrong when he reckoned Ongoye University’s finest son couldn’t organise a handjob in a whorehouse. Clearly he can, if the gallery of pictures of Mister T letting his hands wander all over the assets of a series of Oriental honeys that have emerged on social media and elsewhere are for real. What a muppet.
My body gives a last little involuntary shudder at the thought of Dirty Dave and his Disgusting Digits, and I focus on the ocean. I have no sense of balance, so bodysurfing is my thing.
The ocean’s glassy, with a few surfers already at backline to the right of the pier. There’s a perfect body wave at mid-break, hollow and slow and peeling. I let the current take me and in seconds I’m up on my first wave and I’m airborne.
It’s one of those mornings when there’s no effort in getting a rhythm going. It’s being in the right place at the right moment and taking the drop. It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
You’re weightless. There’s this massive force of water that’s bearing down on you. You’re powerless to stop it. If you stay, it will drown you. The natural reaction is to curl into a ball or try to go under. Instead you stretch your body and let it take you. Your heart is in our mouth and you’re flying, and for those seconds you’re part of that power.
I take a lovely big one. I’m glued to the face of the wave. There’s this beautiful curtain of water as the lip of the wave barrels over me. I’m screaming with joy and tasting salt water, kicking for speed and I make it.
I let the wave take me all the way to shore. I get to my feet and stumble up the beach. I’m out of breath, my muscles ache and I’m ready for a shower.
I hit the showers. They’re dry. So are the three at the southern end of the beach.
Mahlobo’s a creepy cat, and a gropey one at that